


A Conversation

by waterbird13



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Conversations, F/M, Injury, Long Term Injury, Permanent Injury, Snippets, Tony lives, family fic, post Endgame, recovery fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: Tony survives, but nothing is ever easy. Some conversations that show the healing process for Tony and his family.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Morgan Stark & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 246





	1. Conversations Around a Hospital Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> You won't believe me, but I've been working on this since shortly after Endgame. It's not even that it's long--it's literally less than ten thousand words--but it's that I've had a metric ton of writer's block.
> 
> This is loosely connected conversations following Tony surviving Endgame, showing the recovery process in a world that's fundamentally changed for Tony. They are a variety of lengths. They do occur in chronological order.
> 
> Right now, this is complete at seven conversations. It is possible I'll add more later.
> 
> These are not the most thoroughly edited things I've ever posted. I've of course looked them over, but I didn't get a beta for these.
> 
> Warnings for: what could probably be read as depression, permanent character injury, canonical almost character death, my filthy mouth.
> 
> I'll post one conversation a day for you all. Please let me know if you're enjoying these!

The thing is, as soon as Tony sees Strange’s one fingered cue, he knows.

Maybe he even knew before. What was it he said to Pepper that time, all those years ago?  _ I shouldn’t be alive. Unless it was for a reason. _

He’s known _ ,  _ been singularly _ driven _ by this reason in front of him. And now Strange says he can stop this, end this once and for all.

He knows what he has to do. Feels like Strange, for a split second, seeing the future play out in crystal detail.

Tony swallows. Can’t always cut the wire. Sometimes, someone has to lay down on it.

He quashes the selfish thought— _ hasn’t it been me enough? Haven’t I given enough? Could they really ask for more? _ —and begins to move, because if not him, who? Who here would he wish this on, would he ask this of?

He thinks, briefly, of Natasha, standing at the cliffs of Voramir and choosing then and there to die. Whatever they said to each other, whatever he thought, she thought, they did—he hopes she knew he admired her. Admired her getting shit done.

He’s moving faster now, can see Carol losing to Thanos’ insane power. Doesn’t spare any more thoughts for anyone but his little family, Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and Peter and  _ Morgan. _

If he has to die, at least they can live. And there’s no more he can ask than that.

“I am inevitable,” Thanos rumbles at him, snapping his fingers triumphantly as Tony gets up to his knees.

Tony watches, and then reveals his final trick. Nano-tech, maybe his crowning achievement. The stones sizzle against his skin, even through the gauntlet. He feels the burn down to his blood, his  _ bones _ , and bites the inside of his cheek for a second to keep from screaming out, tasting blood in his mouth before he can speak.

“And I...am...Iron Man,” he manages, snapping his fingers. 

He expects that to be it, maybe. Turned to dust just as Thanos and his army is, or else burned from the inside out, a husk of a body left behind. He expects this to end, but not to get to see it.

He has had a split second to make his peace with that, but really, he’s known he’d die this way for fifteen years. He’s fifteen years passed his time. 

What he gets instead is a hand on his shoulder, a frantic “Mr. Stark!” Then two more hands, one on his shoulder, one on his head, both gauntleted in metal he forged and fabricated himself. Then…

More.

Carol, and Steve, and Thor. That Quill guy and his friends, and Nebula joins them. King T’Challa, and his people. More. Hands on him or on each other, frantic, grabbing, firm.

Tony catches them out of the corner of his eye, at once awed and deeply, deeply settled to be so surrounded. They're  _ here _ . Alive. Winning. And that’s enough. The pain rips through him, his skin sizzling as it melts, but Tony can bare it. His job is done.

His vision is fading, but he sees Thanos—lost, confused,  _ defeated _ at Tony’s hand—fade to nothing before his eyes, and that’s enough.

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark?”

Tony tries to listen to the kid—his kid, returned from the dead—but can’t focus. Can’t get much until suddenly Peter is gone, and Pepper is there. 

“Pep.”

She leans in. “You can rest now.”

She’s so brave. Always has been. More than him, more than anybody. He tries to memorize every detail of that face, one last time.

It’s the last thing Tony sees, feels, before the world goes dark.

When Tony wakes up, it’s to the rhythmic sound of beeping, and someone poking his face.

“Mmm,” he says, about as much as he can apparently manage.

There’s sudden footsteps, and Tony tries to open his eyes but finds that he can’t. He’s bothered by it, but it’s all fuzzy. He knows he’s bothered, but can’t work up the energy to care, much less do anything.

He’s  _ here _ , but only in the most minimal, physical sense.

“Morgan, what did I tell you?”

“Not to touch Daddy,” the one with the poking fingers says immediately, very close to Tony’s ear. “But I’m not touching his bad side, look.”

Tony thinks he should be a little more concerned. Bad side? Somehow he doesn’t think his daughter is particularly worried about facial symmetry and camera angles.

Pepper sighs. “Morgan, honey, your Daddy is hurt pretty bad and we need to be careful of him, alright?”

“When’s Daddy gonna wake up?” Morgan asks, and Tony’s sure she heard everything Pepper says—Morgan absorbs pretty much everything—but, like all five year olds, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s not in her direct line of thoughts.

Footsteps again, Pepper coming close. Pepper’s hand is suddenly on his, so gentle he honestly thinks he might be imagining it.

“When he’s ready,” she says softly. There’s a brief shuffling. “C’mon, Morgan. You need to get some sleep.”

The bed dips as Morgan moves, and she touches his chest. Right where the arc reactor used to rest. “Love you 3000, Daddy,” she whispers, before he hears her and Pepper leave the room.

Tony tries again to say something, to open his eyes. Nothing.

He hears Pepper murmuring with someone, and then a door shuts. He gives up on trying.

He sighs, lets himself relax. Even if it was all just a fever dream, a last thought before death—

Hearing them one more time is worth it, he thinks, so he doesn’t resist as he’s pulled under yet again.

The next time he wakes up, he still can’t open his eyes.

Nevertheless, he knows the room is crowded. It’s a little too hot, a little too tense. 

“He’s awake.”

A beat of silence. “How can you tell?” Someone else asks. Rhodey. It’s a fair question. Tony’s not exactly capable of making his alertness known.

“I’ve done this before a few times,” the first voice says dryly, and Tony realizes it’s Strange. “Hello, Stark.”

Tony tries to make some sort of confirming noise, and out comes out as more of a half-strangled grunt.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!”

Peter. Tony tries yet again to open his eyes, but gets nothing.

“Everything’s good here,” Peter continues, never deterred by Tony not giving him the reaction he wants. “We’re...we’re good. And don’t worry, Mr. Stark. You take however long you need, alright? ‘Cause you can rest, like Ms. P—Mrs. Stark said, and when you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

And Tony would  _ really _ like some more information—like what the  _ hell _ is going on—but he’s not in a position to demand explanations. For now, Peter’s here. He remembers Morgan poking him, before. Rhodey’s here. And Pepper must be near, even if she’s not speaking.

So he drifts back off.

The next time he wakes up, he manages to open one eye.

The world is blurry, dark, distorted, but it’s progress. He looks around, trying to focus on any detail he can latch onto.

Pepper is there. He can’t so much as see her as get the blur of red-blonde, but he can  _ smell  _ her, knows her presence anywhere. 

Morgan is there too, because no other person has ever fit so perfectly against him. She feels like she’s grown, though. Knees poking him at odd angles, hair tickling his neck...he tries to squeeze her tighter, but he can’t work up the strength.

“Tony,” Pepper says, a breath only, carried slowly, softly the distance between them. “Tony.”

He has to swallow a few times. “Pep.”

There’s a hand on his face, and he can barely feel it but he knows it’s  _ there _ . “It’s going to be okay, Tony,” Pepper whispers. “We’re all going to be fine.”


	2. A Conversation About Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's awake now, and he has to answer to some of the people he almost left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! It's time to see how this plays out, now that Tony's awake and alive.
> 
> Warning for what is definitely depression, and grief, and fear, and permanent injury, and family. 
> 
> Enjoy, and please let me know if you enjoyed it!

Tony is awake for three days before there’s a scuffle outside his room.

“—don’t fucking care, I am going in there  _ right _ fucking now because he has to answer to me, and—“

“Kid, if you don’t lay off, I will taze you. He’s  _ resting _ . Doctor’s orders.”

“Happy,” Tony says, as loud as he can manage. “Let him through.”

Because it’s been longer than five years, but Tony knows that voice.

Harley pushes into the room, disheveled and wild-eyed, and Tony does his best to sit up. He fails.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tony demands, looking the kid over. Not physically hurt, at least.

Harley comes barreling to a stop, arms crossed protectively over his chest. “You tell me, Tony.”

“Jeez, kid, you might not have heard, but—“

Harley runs right over him. “You tell me why one minute I’m eating dinner, then the next I’m still sitting at the damn table like nothing’s changed, but my little  _ sister _ is suddenly five years older and mom doesn’t know whether to hug me or get the shotgun. You tell me why we’re not even through sorting that shit out when FRIDAY gives me a fucking call to tell me to get on a plane to New York because you were  _ dying _ and weren’t going to last the night and I should get to say goodbye.”

Tony’s pretty sure he’s gaping like a fish. “I… FRIDAY?”

“Harley Keener was significant in your life, Boss.”

Tony swallows. True.

“And  _ then, _ when you lived but didn’t wake up, I had to fucking go home, I couldn’t stay, but here you are and—“

Tony gets it then. “You wanna come here?” He offers, opening his arm. Harley accepts immediately, half collapsing in a chair, burying himself into Tony’s good side.

“I’m okay, Harls,” Tony murmurs, patting him with his remaining arm. “Look, gonna live and everything.” There’s more to it than that, injuries Tony will never recover from, a life fundamentally altered by what he did, but for now, it’s good enough. All that matters. He’ll live, and he’ll be here to comfort Harley. Harley won’t lose another adult in his life. Not yet.

“You  _ fucking _ idiot,” Harley says, voice wet.

“What’d we say about the swearing, huh?”

“Not under your fucking roof?” Harley says as innocently as he can, sniffling even as he does. But they both manage to smile, a joke more than five years old for Tony, a few months for Harley.

“Don’t leave,” Harley whispers. “I can’t...I can’t lose another one.”

Tony remembers what he once said. _Dad’s leave, no need to be a pussy about it._ God, he was a fucking idiot, all these kids, all this family.

“Someone’s got to save the world, kiddo.”

“It’s always you. I watched...fucking not you again, okay?”

Tony doesn’t make any promises. Doesn’t say that he’s not exactly field ready, doesn’t say he’s done, doesn’t say he’s still Iron Man. Doesn’t know what’s true anymore.

“There are things worth sticking around here for,” Tony says instead. “Hey. Look at me. I came back from the dead for you guys, you understand?”

Harley buries himself deeper into Tony’s side. “And you better keep doing that.”

Tony runs his fingers over the kid’s back. “Uh-huh. So, tell me about it. Last we talked, you’d just applied to MIT. How’s that going?”

“Not now,” Harley groans. “It’s not important right now.”

“How the hell isn't it important? It’s your future, kid. Is it the money again? I already told you—“

“Tony,” Harley neatly interrupts. “It’s not the money. It’s—are you serious? I  _ died _ , for five years. And things don’t look good back home, and you almost died, and I have a few bigger things to worry about, okay?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not okay. Not okay at all. If you guys need help back home, your mom and I will work that out. If your application won’t be considered ‘cause it’s old, then you’ll reapply. You need a job in the meantime, you know you have one here. But you’re not letting your future go.”

Harley folds himself closer into Tony’s side. “You are  _ such  _ a pain in the ass,” he mumbles.

Tony swallows, drags his remaining hand through the kid’s hair. Yeah, he bets he is. But over the last few years, he’s kind of been given the impression that that’s actually a key job characteristic to being a halfway decent Dad. 

Tony can’t quite adequately describe how wide his eyes go when he realizes that Peter and Harley have become something like casual friends.

He’d never considered it before, even though they have a lot in common, are around the same age, and are both his crazy kids. But here they are, both on his bed, jabbing playfully at each other and then Tony when they get bored of each other.

They seem to be good brotherly-friends with Morgan, too, but Morgan is now at gymnastics. Tony and Pepper have decided to keep her routine as normal as possible, now that her father will live. 

Apparently, Peter outed his secret to Harley. Pepper’s privately told him that Peter lost it a bit in the hospital, when Tony was touch-and-go. Tony can picture it, can picture all the people who inadvertently know his kid’s name and face now, because of it.

“Well,  _ sure _ , if you’re going to think about it that way—”

“What other way would you ever think about it?” Harley demands.

“Well—”

“Boys,” Tony interrupts. “You’re both right. Build it and see what happens.”

Because God knows Tony’s not building anything, confined to bed, barely able to move. Someone might as well take advantage of the garage.

“Tonight, though,” he says. “Because  _ someone _ hasn’t finished his applications yet.”

Harley grumbles but goes to his room—his room, Tony won’t even put up a pretense otherwise, because the Stark house was made with room for the whole family, even when many of them weren’t around. 

“How’s it going today?” Peter asks.

“Fine,” Tony says, pulling together a smile because he’s never going to tell Peter anything less. He’s fine. It’s all fine. This kid  _ saved _ him; like he could ever crush him by telling him anything else, like he could ever say the damage overwhelms him most of the time.

Which reminds him— “Peter. How’d you know…to do what you did?”

“Do what?”

“That day. With…with the touching. You saved me.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, Dr. Strange and Dr. Cho and Dr. Palmer and Ms. Pepper with Extremis saved you. I just—just—”

“Peter.”

Peter swallows. “I, uh…I don’t know. I didn’t know it would work. I just…I was there and I wasn’t going…I wasn’t going to let you carry that alone.” He looks away for a minute. “You didn’t let me die alone, on Titan. And I…I wasn’t gonna let you be alone either.”

That’s…that’s a lot, and Tony makes a mental note to check if anyone has looked into getting this kid some therapy yet. Jesus.

“How could I ever be alone?” Tony says softly. “Look at this awesome family I got.” Just so he leaves Peter no doubt, he maneuvers his hand to pet Peter on the arm. “Thank you, kid. For…for being there for me. I wouldn’t have survived without it.”

“You might have.”

“No.” Tony knows it deep in his soul. He would have died, just like he knew he would when he saw Strange’s one fingered warning, if not for his kid here. “You saved me. Gave me a second chance.”

“You gave me one too,” Peter says, then squirms a bit. “I…Tony, I…”

“Yeah, kid, me too,” Tony says gently. “Now, if you go now, you can get a head start on Harley in the garage.” He lets his kid go, escaping the awkward situation, but listens to him until he can no longer hear his footsteps.


	3. Conversations About Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does a body--and a mind--begin to recover from the snap?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Day three. Warnings for getting slightly deeper into Tony's physical injuries. It's not super graphic, but they are discussing amputation and other permanent injuries. Also, warnings for depression, specifically feeling unmoored and a sense of hopelessness.

Tony moves his arm around. Or, more accurately, what’s  _ left _ of his arm. It had been pretty bad, according to Rhodey (who Tony can always count on to tell him the truth, at least), but originally they’d thought they could save some of it, especially with Strange rushing him to the hospital and Helen Cho and the cradle and Extremis. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be. Even with  _ magic _ involved, they weren’t fast enough, and it was determined that the arm needed to be removed before the poison of the stones spread any further, or else Extremis would just burn itself out, trying to compete.

So now, he has a stump, arm cut right below the shoulder. He can sort of wiggle the stump, but it hurts. He has to turn his head to really see it, because his right eye is blinded, and that’s probably permanent too. 

No one will give him a mirror, but Tony’s always had an active imagination. He can imagine what he looks like now, can feel the still healing skin on his face.

“It’s not that bad,” Rhodey says, walking in and making Tony jump, too caught up in his thoughts.

“Not that bad?” Tony asks, turning away from his arm so he can see Rhodey. The one eye thing is going to be its own nuisance. “I’m down an arm, Rhodey.” The words come out slightly slurred; the right side of his mouth still won’t move. They say he’ll probably get some functionality back there.

“Yeah, well. You died on us a half dozen times, Tones.”

Tony winces. It’s not like he didn’t expect to die, when he made the decision to go for the stones. Hell, earlier even. Whatever it takes, right? But hearing the reality now that he’s on this side of it is a different story. He came  _ this _ close to leaving his family behind.

Tony nods, because he gets it. An arm is a small price to pay for getting to come out alive. 

Again. Tony’s habit of escaping death is pushing it a little past the realm of believability, now.

“What am I supposed to do without an arm, though?” 

Rhodey raps his fingers against his leg braces meaningfully. “You’re Tony Stark. I hear you built an arc reactor in a cave, with a box of scraps,” he says, smirking slightly. “I know the lab at the house is more than the  _ garage _ you pretend it is. If you can invent time travel there, you can build an arm.”

Tony nods, tiredly, because it’s true. He  _ can. _ He can make anything. He doesn’t know quite how to explain to Rhodey that it doesn’t feel like there’s anything left, though. That the idea might be there, but they’re shriveling up on their way out, that he’s hollowed out and drifting.

Once upon a time, the world made sense. Tony was a genius, meant to usher in the future even if he was an asshole while doing it.

Now, he’s died to save the universe, watched his kid die in his arms. He’s defeated things he can’t even imagine, he’s messed with magic and time travel and alien species _ light years  _ ahead of his full understanding. He’s just a man in a can, and now, he’s a man in a can down an eye and an arm. 

Rhodey sits on the edge of Tony’s bed and wraps an arm around him, like Tony’s torso is whole and like he’s always known it. “You’re Tony Stark,” he says again, quieter this time. “It might not be tomorrow, but I know you. You’ll dig yourself out. And remember—I’m here. We all are.”

Tony nods tiredly. He doesn’t know how to verbalize his fears, doesn’t know if there really is a way to do that at all right now. But he thinks Rhodey gets it at least a little.

So he lets himself drift back to sleep, head resting on Rhodey’s shoulder.

Two days later, Tony is finishing his lunch—left handed, which is fine, except he never realized that he would use a second hand to hold a bowl steady to scrape out the last remnants before—when Nick Fury walks in. Tony’s good shoulder tenses.

“Nick,” he says. “Been a while.”

“Five years, or so I hear,” Fury says, that slight quirk to his lips. “Never been a dead man for real before.”

“Glad to see, as usual, that it didn’t stick. So. To what do I owe the drop in?”

Fury seats himself in one of the many chairs scattered around the bedroom. “So. I heard you’re not as prophetic as you thought.”

Tony doesn’t even pretend to not know what he’s talking about. “Only because I refused to be the one left behind,” he says. “I saw it coming and I…I wouldn’t be the one left. I came damn close to dying, Nick.”

“Heard you did, for a bit there,” he agrees. “But you lived.”

“But I lived.”

“And?”

“And?”

“What comes next?”

Tony huffs. “Why does something have to come next? Can’t I just be done, for once?” He is. He’s so, so done. Doesn’t have much left to give.

“That’s the thing about heroes,” Nick says, smiling slightly. “Always take on more than their share.”

“I’m no hero.”

“Tony,” he says, and Tony’s only ever heard that voice once before, in Clint’s barn. “You would not be here if you weren’t.” When Tony doesn’t say anything, he continues. “I’m not talking about Iron Man. Iron Man was a hero, but if he died on that battlefield, well, he died a noble death. Tony Stark, though...the world needs that type of hero a little longer.”

Tony smiles bitterly. “Tony Stark not recommended, remember?”

Nick might flinch, but Tony honestly blames the fact that he only has one working eye on what he sees. “I won’t apologize.”

“For knowing what buttons to push? Why would you? You’re  _ the _ spy. Other spies tell their children fairy tales about you, don’t they?”

“I pushed and I manipulated and I made the team I needed,” Fury says. “Because the Earth was suddenly in need of a greater defense and I did what had to be done.”

“Maybe that’s where I fell short, when I saw it coming,” Tony murmurs. “Not as ruthless as you.”

“No, you never were,” Fury agrees. “You want the truth now, man to man?”

“Have you ever told the truth in your life?”

“It’s been known to happen,” Fury says. “Look. On that field, with those stones, you told Thanos you were Iron Man. But Iron Man...that was all Tony Stark, there.”

“They’re one in the same,” Tony argues.

“Maybe, maybe not. But Iron Man is an  _ idea. _ Like the Avengers Initiative was to me. Tony Stark was a man in a can, ready to die to do what had to be done. And he’s who we needed.”

“Who is Tony Stark without Iron Man?” Tony asks derisively. “Everything worthwhile about me came from him.”

_ Everything special about you came out of a bottle _ . He knows that’s not true about Steve. Maybe it was prophetic, more true about himself.

“What a load of bullshit,” Fury says. “Iron Man might have been the change in your life, but  _ Tony Stark  _ made that happen. So now you need to figure out: who is Tony Stark?”

“If I knew that, my relationship with Pepper would have been a lot smoother a lot sooner.”

“So figure it out now. ‘Cause all I know is that the world still needs Tony Stark. Whatever that is, whoever that is—you’re not done yet,” he says, then gets up and leaves.

“What do you think?” Tony asks Peter and Morgan, crowded around his bed, looking at the Stark pad on his lap.

It’s iteration seventy-eight of a potential new arm for himself, the only one seeming even remotely feasible, considering Tony’s expectations and unique needs. Peter looks it over, head cocked to one side. Tony, for his part, watches the kids together. 

Peter has apparently been spending a great deal of his free time at the cottage with them, whenever he isn’t with his Aunt or his friends at school. And even then, Aunt May has apparently started a foundation with Pepper to help displaced people after the Blip, as they’ve taken to calling it, so she’s here often enough. Peter is a permanent resident, it feels like.

Tony can’t exactly say that he minds.  _ Craves _ it, really. 

“Why isn’t it red?” Morgan demands.

Tony considers. There’s nothing  _ stopping _ it from being red, just restraint, which he has limited amounts of. “You like red, Morgie?”

She nods.

“Mr. Stark—“

“You called me Tony once kid, c’mon, we got this—“

“ _ Tony _ , then. This is brilliant. Seriously next level. Is it...is it nanotech?”

Tony nods. “I figured, I’ve already made a lot of progress with that tech. It’s just taking it interfacing with my brain to a new level, getting some sensation, feedback from it, and—“

“Brilliant,” Peter concludes, blowing up the image for a better look.

“I can’t do it for a while yet,” Tony says. “My shoulder, they say it’s not healed enough. Another couple weeks, if I’m lucky. Of course, the nerves are pretty fried and Extremis is great, but they just might not come back. If that happens, this will never interface properly.”

“You’re going to get better, Tony,” Peter says. “Dr. Cho says some of the nerves are waking up.”

“Someone’s been talking outside of school,” Tony murmurs, but with little heat. His room is always full, because he’s more blessed than he has any right to be. He has yet to tell Helen or any of the other doctors to kick people out before they give reports.

“Well, she  _ has _ said it,” Peter mumbles.

“She did,” Tony confirms gently, not wanting to crush the kid. “I got pinpricks, kiddo. It could stop there. Extremis like this isn’t a miracle, and I’m not willing to risk the version that  _ would  _ fix the arm.”

“It’ll get better, Mr.—Tony,” Peter insists, and Tony almost smiles. There hasn’t been much of blind optimism lately. He missed it.

Morgan looks up. “You’re getting better, Daddy, right?”

Tony swallows. How in the hell can he tell her anything else? How can he  _ allow _ anything else, when  _ this _ is his world?

“Sure thing,” he agrees. “You know what would help? A kiss from my favorite Morguna.”

She giggles and kisses his cheek, then the other, and Tony smiles. It must look grotesque—half his face still doesn’t move right—but Morgan is smiling as she pulls away, so Tony figures it can’t be that bad.


	4. Conversations About Resiliency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony still has jobs to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, non Iron fam people!
> 
> Tony gets called back into action. We touch on stuff from the movie I personally don't love. Steve and Bucky show up.
> 
> This chapter doesn't resolve super neatly.

“Nice arm,” Barnes says, entering his bedroom when Tony grunts to acknowledge the knock.

Tony starts a bit. He’s been expecting…well, anyone else, honestly. “I help you?” he says, absently flexing his nano arm.

“I think so.”

Tony looks over the man. He looks better than the last time Tony saw him, although admittedly that _was_ on a battlefield after being dead for five years. He’s cleaned up a bit. Tony doesn’t know where he’s been staying, but he’s got some new, non-combat threads, too.

“What can I do for you today?” Tony asks. “If you’re looking for tech, I’m sorry to say I’m a little behind in my backlog right now.”

Barnes snorts. “I’m here about Steve.”

Well, _that_ throws Tony a bit. They made their peace at the end, but Tony’s barely seen Steve since.

“He’s going to do something stupid,” Bucky continues.

Tony swallows. “That’s a little vague and describes a little too much about him.”

He has a brief moment to worry that his snark won’t be welcome, but Bucky chuckles without much humor. “Yeah, okay, true. Only this time, he’s not charging Nazis with a stage prop.”

“What is it, Barnes? I don’t have time for guessing games.” Technically speaking, Tony has nothing _but_ time right now, but he’s tired. So, so tired.

“Someone’s got to bring the stones back. And he volunteered.”

“So?” Tony asks, even if he already has a sinking suspicion what Barnes might be here about.

“C’mon, Stark. He hasn’t said anything. But you know, it’s a one way trip for him.”

“That’s his choice,” Tony says, looking somewhere over Barnes’ shoulder.

“Yeah,” Barnes allows. “But, Stark…you need to talk to him. At least make him reconsider.”

“Me? Why me? If you haven’t noticed, _you’re_ the one he listens to. If you forgot, he threw me over for you once before. I’m not the person to have this conversation.”

“Stevie,” Bucky pronounces, as if coming from somewhere deep and difficult, “doesn’t really listen to anyone, not if he doesn’t want to. But…he’ll _do_ it, because I ask. He’ll stay.”

“Problem solved.”

“He’ll stay if I ask ‘cause he thinks he owes me something, like the past is on him.”

Tony doesn’t really see the problem with that, although he guesses why Barnes does. “Wilson, then.”

“And break his heart? He doesn’t know. Can’t see it coming.” Barnes pauses, then moves, an infinitesimal step closer. “It has to be you. Stark—Tony—I know we’ve already asked a lot. Taken a lot. But this one—he’ll listen to you. Really listen, really hear. You have some sort of way with him.”

“If you mean to piss him off—”

“That is what I mean,” Barnes interrupts. “Everything pisses Stevie off, but you—you piss him off and then _push through_ that, like you come out on the other side and get through to that colossal dumbass, from what the others have said. So…will you talk to him?” 

Steve comes up to Tony’s room like he’s coming to an execution. It’s fair; communication has been strained between them, to say the least.

“Steve.”

“Tony.” He swallows, fidgets with his hands in that way he has, the way unbecoming of the Great Captain America and one hundred percent Steve Rogers.

It’s always been a secret, how Tony’s reassured to see that. Not quite as ideal as Howard made him sound.

Zemo looked at the green in his eyes as a flaw, Tony looked at hand-wringing. Whatever. 

“What can I do for you, Tony?” Steve asks after a minute. 

“Heard you’ve taken on the responsibility of bringing the Stones home,” Tony says.

“I—yeah. Someone has to, and—“

“And true, strong, brave and the American way is taking on the second round of time travel, yeah,” Tony interrupts. He pauses. “What’re your plans for when you get back?”

Steve looks down for a second, but then forces his eyes to lock with Tony’s. “Why? What do you need?”

Tony doesn’t think it’s his imagination, the spark of hope he sees in Steve’s eyes right then. 

Because here’s Steve. Needing to be needed, pathologically, and Tony’s probably not one to throw stones here, considering his own history.

Then again, maybe that’s why he sees it in Steve’s eyes. 

“It’s not about what I need,” Tony denies. “What do _you_ need, Steve?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit.”

Tony studies Steve, biting his bottom lip, clearly trying to figure out what Tony knows, how much to tell him. Eventually, he sighs. “You guessed. Or...Bucky?”

Tony nods, not confirming either way. “Have you thought it through?”

“I have.”

“Really? Polio will still exist. Kennedy will still be shot and you’ll just have to watch it on the news. Act shocked. We haven’t been to the moon yet, computers are a technological miracle and a _joke_ at the same time. Cold War will be kicking off, Vietnam War will still happen, young guys pulled into a draft to go die over there, civilians slaughtered. You’ll have to watch the AIDS crisis unfold, watch young men die unwanted and be able to do jack shit to stop it. Star Wars isn’t out yet, food still sucks, and bathrooms and water fountains and trains and restaurants still say _whites only_. This really where you want to go?”

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony has more to say. “Barnes’ will still be in HYDRA’s hands, and you’ll have to live with knowing that. You’re buried in ice somewhere—do you rescue yourself and create some sort of paradox, or do you leave yourself to rot? You’ll know about assassinations, government coups, and terrorist attacks and won’t be able to do anything. You’ll know SHIELD is infested with HYDRA, but no one will believe you. Anything I’m missing?”

“Tony. I’ve thought about this.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “And you’re prepared for that? Okay then. Try this. Peggy Carter moved on. She gets married and has two kids, a successful career, an extended family. She helped raise a niece and she helped raise me, and here you are, determined to erase all that. And what are you going to tell her? Howard? Colonel Philips and the other Commandos? That you travelled back in time? Puh-lease,” Tony scoffs.

“They’ve seen weirder.”

“No, they really, really haven’t. You’d spend every waking moment realizing you can’t stop anything, or you’d unbalance the world. The you in that world will be left frozen in ice. You’d take away Peggy’s life.”

“What do you want from me, Tony?” Steve demands through gritted teeth. 

Tony considers for a moment. Could tell Steve how disappointed he is in him. And that’s not exactly uncommon, but this is perhaps only the second time Tony’s been disappointed in _Steve Rogers_ instead of _Captain America_.

He doesn’t say it though. It won’t make Steve listen.

“I have a job for you,” he says. “Only you can do it. And if you don’t come back, then, well, Natasha dies. So. Make your choice carefully.”

Steve considers him. “I—that’s extortion.”

“No, Steve,” Tony says. “It’s a choice. For yourself or the greater good. Make it.”

Steve does come back with Natasha, because of course he does. Because he charged an enemy base with a stage prop, because he flew a plane into the Arctic, dove on a bomb, got on that damn helicarrier, faced down Thanos. He comes back.

Tony wishes he could have seen it. Steve, showing up as Natasha falls to her death, grabbing her using modified Iron Man boots Tony and Peter and Harley and Rhodey worked into his Captain America costume, dropping the stone on the uncaring rocks below instead of Natasha. A soul for a soul, the trade even and complete.

Tony’s only seen Natasha twice, once as a part of Clint’s “welcome back” tour, and once when she sneaks up to sit with him in dead silence. Neither of them say a word. Somehow, they both feel better for it.

Natasha doesn’t remember dying. Tony does. Either way, they’re both marked by it now.

Natasha is mostly with the Bartons, sometimes with Bruce, sometimes with Steve, if Pepper’s reports are to be believed. 

Barnes comes back to see him the day after Steve comes back. “Thank you,” is all he says.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Bullshit.”

Tony shrugs. “I solved the problem for the next ten minutes. Which I’m an expert at. Keep putting short term solutions together long enough, and the long term one will emerge. But I don’t know our long term solution for our man out of time yet.”

“It’s not your job to fix him,” Barnes says. “You did your part even keeping him here.”

Maybe true. Tony can’t fix everything, can’t fix people. Can’t even get out of bed right now. He’s done his part.

He doesn’t feel quite done, though.


	5. Conversations About Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far from Home happens. Tony and Peter have to evaluate some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually the first one conceived, because I wanted a world where Far From Home could happen with Tony still alive. Fun fact.
> 
> All prior warnings still apply.

Tony is _frothing_ mad by the time he processes the news.

That’s a new one. The deep, bubbling over, destructive anger he’s feeling. Tony’s been angry. Been plenty angry in the past.

Lately, it’s been hopelessness more than anything though. Not anger. It’s like he did his stages of grief and he left that behind, somewhere, whether it was after his kid died or on the battlefield or what.

He’s not sure if it’s a good thing or not, to have it back.

But speaking of his kid…

“Tell me again, Hap,” he says, breathing through his nose so he doesn’t _shout_. “Tell me again why you never fucking called me.”

“Look, I can listen to that Doctor guy as well as anyone,” Happy says. “And he said to watch your blood pressure.”

“And how do you think my blood pressure is _right now_ , if you were to take a guess?”

Tony can hear Happy’s gulp, over the phone. “Shit, Boss. What could you have done?”

And that…that hits the nail on the head. Because he can’t. He can barely get his prosthetic to work, still can’t move his whole face, putters around the cabin like he’s ninety. He can’t get the armor on. Can’t fly to Peter’s rescue. Probably can’t even remote pilot, after the damage the stones and Extremis wracked on his body.

Tony hangs up the phone, tossing it to the foot of the bed, unable to stand another minute of the conversation.

Tony’s kid is alive. _Alive_ , he reminds himself, as the boy stands awkwardly a few feet away.

“I’m pretty sure we bought you an international calling plan,” Tony manages to say.

“Tony, I—“ Peter begins, but for once, Tony doesn’t have to cut him off. He doesn’t seem to have anything to say.

And what the hell is Tony going to say, anyways? _The adults are talking_ ? Those days are long past. Look how helpful the _adults_ were to his kid. His nearly grown kid who almost got killed because Tony is goddamn useless and confined to his cabin.

Still. Tony has to say _something_. Has to pull it together. “What, lose an arm and I’m suddenly not good enough to help you out?”

Well. He probably wasn’t supposed to say _that._ Damn.

Peter of years ago would have gone wide eyed and hyper verbal, reassuring Tony. Even having missed five years of life, there and gone in a flash, unknowing, Peter’s still seen too much. “You know that’s not it, Tony.”

“It is, though,” Tony argues. “Because now I’m a relic. I survived by accident and I can’t help anyone anymore.” And _Jesus_ , way to make the trauma his kid just went through all about him. He takes a deep, shaky breath. “What were you thinking, kiddo?”

“I was thinking there was danger, and I could stop it, and if I didn’t, what good was I?”

Tony’s throat is desert dry. Hasn’t been this dry since he stumbled through sand dunes, waiting for rescue or death, growing more and more ambivalent to which one he wanted. “Stop, Peter.”

“No,” Peter says, pushing on steadily. “I won’t stop. This is…you and Aunt May and everyone might be afraid, but this is what I have to do.”

Tony bites his tongue. Has to be the rational one here. “Why? Why couldn’t you have called someone? There’s an entire goddamn superhero team that lives like forty minutes from here.”

“It…escalated quickly.”

Maybe true. These things tend to. But Tony studies the kid. “And?”

Peter bites his lip, eyes the corner of the room instead of Tony, and Tony finds himself waiting, holding his breath. 

“Everyone thinks you’re gone,” Peter says. “I mean, some people even believe you’re dead. That we’re…that we’re all lying, when we tell them you’re recovering. And, fuck, Tony—even you act like you’re gone. EDITH, really?”

Tony tries to keep his expression blank. “I wanted you well protected.”

“Even Down I’m the Hero. Please. EDITH knows what her name originally stood for.”

Tony winces, but Peter doesn’t seem interested in stopping to discuss things, on a roll as he now is. “But even the people who know you’re alive think you’re _gone_. And they keep looking to me. Like, I have to figure it out, because I’m the new Iron Man, and—”

“You’re not,” Tony says, cutting right across his kid. “You’re not the new Iron Man. No one else is ever gonna be Iron Man.” 

Maybe it’s selfishness, or his own ego talking. But Iron Man was born of blood, and sand, and drowning, and desperation, and bitter, righteous revenge. Iron Man has Yinsen’s and Tony’s blood in his core, and no one else is ever going to have that. 

Iron Man, as good as he is, as _much_ as he is, is the product of failure and desperation, the product of trying to change what Tony’s leaving behind.

Tony looks at the kid. Really looks at him. Once upon a time, Iron Man was the most important thing he had to leave behind.

Now he has a legacy, a wife, three wonderful children, one of whom is standing before him, overrun with burdens that aren’t his to bear. Are Tony’s.

“Listen,” Tony says. “You’re not the new Iron Man. Down or dead or disabled or whatever, I’m Iron Man. You’re—you’re something better. You’re exactly what I always wanted you to be. Something _better_ , Pete.”

“How the hell can I be better than that?”

Peter’s always seen Iron Man as a—well, as a hero. As a shining, metallic beacon of hope and safety. Exactly how Tony wanted people to see him, sure, and he isn’t sure how much he wants to ruin the kid’s vision, peel back the layers to show him the blood and pain and mistakes. So, so many mistakes.

“By being you,” Tony says. “By being Spider Man and Peter Parker. By caring so damn much, and maybe stopping to use that big brain of yours to call for help next time, yeah? By being better than any of us ever were.”

That’s a damn lot to put on the kid, Tony knows. It’s not fair.

This superhero thing never is.

“I can’t guarantee the world will get the old Iron Man back,” Tony says. He lifts his arm, his metallic arm, and shrugs. “Don’t know what I’m up for anymore. But you—the world doesn’t need Iron Man.” He suddenly has a flashback to Fury, and squeezes his eyes closed for a second, before looking straight at the kid again. “The world needs Peter Parker. Whoever, however that is. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Peter holds very still for a moment, then nods, and then is suddenly on the bed with Tony, pressing against him. Tony gets his arm around him as fast as he can process the change. It’s his metal arm. Peter doesn’t seem to care.

“He—he _died_ , Tony.”

Tony doesn’t have to ask who. The asshole. Beck. Mysterio. His own employee, one more fucked up remnant of the Stark legacy. Whatever role he did or didn’t play in that lunatic’s descent into villainy, he knows how it will be perceived.

And here it is. Iron Man was built to kill, christened in blood. Spider Man was never meant to be this.

Almost seven years ago, Tony offered his kid a choice. Be an Avenger, or go back to school. Be a neighborhood Spider Man. His kid chose the neighborhood, chose a life, then. 

But now…now he’s been to space. Faced a mad Titan. Died. Seen death. Had the fate of the world put on his shoulders. 

It’s not fucking fair, not to the kid, that the world needs him. That Peter’s _right_ , that he can do something so the world needs him to do it. It’s not fair that Peter’s teetering, losing all the things that made him normal, being forced to take up the mantle of superhero whether he likes it or not.

It’s not fair that Iron Man—that _Tony_ —can’t take that from him, can’t take the role, can’t take the burden of that choice, from his kid. 

Tony rubs his scarred face against Peter’s hair, gets weird pinpricks of sensation but ignores that for now. “I know, Peter,” he murmurs. “I know.”


	6. Conversations About Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper and Tony have a moment, in Tony's recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all.
> 
> The chapters are getting shorter, as we're getting near the end. That's said, Pepper definitely deserves her moment.
> 
> I'm posting like seven hours early; I need every minute of sleep I can get tomorrow before the last day of work before break, and I've stayed up way too late multiple nights in a row now. So, enjoy this early. Last chapter will be Saturday morning still.
> 
> Enjoy!

Pepper, Tony’s always thought, works miracles.

She’s a full-time mother and still has a large hand in the day-to-day running of their company, and has somehow taken him being laid up long-term in stride.

And, sure, they have a great support system. Rhodey’s been around for Morgan—and Tony, and Pepper—a lot more than he maybe should be, and Happy is always there when he isn’t in Queens. Even the boys help out when they can. And they’ve reached the point where there are people at Stark Industries who they can trust. 

But still. Pepper does more than any human alive, and Tony _worships_ her for it.

“You’re going to catch a chill out here,” she says, leaning against the door frame, watching Tony watch the sunset on the porch.

Tony snorts. “Catch a chill. What are you, my ninety year old aunt?” Because snark is so much easier than admitting how much energy it took to get down here, and how he might not have the energy to go back to bed.

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Is your wife not allowed to care about your health, now?”  
Tony bites his lip. All they do lately, it seems, is care about his health. Watch his nerves come back—or not. Experiment with his arm and building a sustainable model. Watch his energy, his lung capacity. Wonder if he should do skin grafts. Wait for Extremis to mess something up in him. 

Pepper sighs, then leaves the doorway and comes to sit on the big old porch swing with him. She curls right into his side, the side with a flesh arm. The human arm is always more comfortable, Tony of course knows, but he also knows that it’s not why Pepper chose that side. It’s so he can look at her without having to completely turn his head.

It’s funny. Pepper tried for _years_ , as his assistant, becoming very good at interrupting his sight line so he was forced to give up on whatever his brain was focused on and look at her, listen to her. Now, all he ever wants is to look at her.

“I looked over the designs you sent me,” she says.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Did you sleep while I was gone?”

Tony’s never lied—at least to her—about how much better he sleeps when she’s there. But this trip, the first since he woke up, proved that it’s no longer possible to sleep alone.

“You know. Cat naps.”

She sighs. “Tony. You know, Christine said—”

“Pepper, I don’t give a damn. I know I should sleep, our five year old knows I should sleep. That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

She’s quiet for a minute. “Well. The designs were good.”

Tony closes his eyes, missing the sunset but hardly caring anymore. “I…just trying to pull my weight around here again.”

Pepper’s arm tightens around him, almost painfully so. “Dammit, Tony. Don’t talk like that.”

“Why not?” he challenges. 

“Because you’re _here_ . And alive. And here for Morgan and me and the boys, and that is pulling your weight.” She buries her face in his shoulder. Tony knows she’s composing herself. Pepper Potts has too good a boardroom face to let a little anger and frustration interrupt her face mid-rant. “Tony Stark, you _died_ for the world. Your life was the _only thing_ that could save the universe, and you gave it, and that was enough for everyone, but not for us. You came back for us. You stayed for us. You’re getting better for us. So goddamn, yes, you are pulling your weight.”

Tony can’t help it. He tilts her chin and kisses her like it’s the first time on that roof all over again, like he’s never done it before and if he doesn’t do it right now, he’ll combust. 

“What was that for?”

“I’m the luckiest goddamn guy in the world,” Tony says, then kisses her again. She wraps her arms around his neck, one hand in his too-long hair, and kisses him back.

The sun’s fully set by the time they’re done. Tony still doesn’t have it in him to move, and Pepper doesn’t make him, just cuddles close to him. They have fireflies, here, and Tony watches them blink along the shore.

“I want to…I hear you, Pepper. But I want to feel useful again. Like I used to.”

Pepper chuckles without much humor. “Tony, I think the big struggle of your whole life has never been feeling as useful as you want to.”

That’s fair. But old Tony got to try at least. “I don’t think I can be Iron Man anymore.”

She studies him, waiting for a reaction. “Okay.”

“I mean, if the world was ending—I’m sorry, Pep, but there’s no more promises. I’ve broken too many to you, especially about this. But if the world was ending, if me in that suit meant the difference between life and death, then, yeah.”

She sighs. “Telling you you’ve done enough won’t matter much, will it?”

“No,” Tony says softly, apologetically. “If there’s something that needs to be done, and I can do it, what does it say if I don’t?”

 _I want you to be better_ , he said to Peter, and he does, every damn day. But underneath all the bullshit and all the extraneous stuff from Tony’s life, they might be more fundamentally alike that Tony would like to think.

“Tony,” she begins to scold, but then stops herself. Nods. “But?”

“But I just…I’m not what I was. Physically, I don’t even know if I can, and—” he stops. Doesn’t know how to talk about it, doesn’t know how to describe the feelings left behind about being Iron Man. About death and loneliness and sacrifice and _burning_.

She kisses his cheek. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to…get back to clean energy. Rebuild the infrastructure that went down during the blip, the things we just didn’t have the manpower or resources or needs to rebuild. Maybe make prosthetics like mine marketable. And…you know, be there for our family.”

Pepper kisses him, this time, long and slow. When she pulls back, she stands up. “C’mon,” she says. “I’ll help you inside.”

Without complaint, he lets her help him up, leaning on her as they head inside their home.


	7. Conversations About the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This was a very welcome break in my writer's block. I hope you enjoyed this little piece!

Somehow, Cambridge still smells the same.

It’s impressive, actually. They say smell is one of the strongest senses, that it can trigger memories people didn’t actually know they had. Tony takes a whiff of the air and remembers every single damn day of MIT, from Jarvis dropping him off, meeting Rhodey, science experiments gone right and wrong, DUM-E’s first moments. All of it.

And then his little girl tugs on his hand, and he obligingly follows her into the dorms.

He looks around at the room his boys are sharing for this upcoming year. “We’ve been here ten whole minutes and you already have illegal experiments going.”

Harley pops out from behind the desk, lifting a pile of decidedly unfolded clothes to the dresser. “It’s just my gauntlet. Chill.”

_ Just _ his gauntlet. Tony pioneered those gauntlets, thank you. He knows what they can do.

The reality is, there will never be another Iron Man. Iron Man might never fly again. But Harley’s been bugging him for almost a year now, and he can build the damn tech. Maybe someday, there will be another armored Avenger.

Morgan looks up at him. “You need to sit, Daddy?”

He squeezes her hand. “I’m fine, Pumpkin. Thank you, though.”

His energy isn’t what it once was. He hordes it these days, saving it for what matters, like family and lab time and carefully selected public appearances that matter. 

But he feels good today. His two boys, starting MIT, together, and Tony reflexively looks down at his little girl, relieved he has more time of her childhood left to go, at least.

The dorm is crowded, between Peter and Harley and Pepper and Morgan and Tony and May and Happy and Harley’s Mom, Beth and his little/older sister, Rachel. Rachel’s a sophomore, moving back into Columbia next week, and Tony’s promised to keep an eye on her while she’s there.

They make it work, even with all those people, May and Beth fussing over the mess the boys are making, Happy easily making four runs to local stores for this and that, Pepper managing them by checklist. Admittedly, Morgan gets into everything and is more hindrance than help, but she’s their little sister. It’s to be expected.

The shadows are getting longer outside the dorm room’s tiny window, and dinner time is drawing closer. Tony swallows, looks at his two boys. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“You have everything you need?” Spider suits and gauntlets and, yes, desk lamps and text books and coffee makers. Whatever it is.

“Yes, Tony.”

He swallows again, trying to keep his voice level. “You’ll call.”

It’s not a question. They nod anyways. They’ll call if they need him. They’ll call about classes and homework and other students. They’ll call to talk to him and Pepper and Morgan. They’ll call if they get themselves in over their heads.

He hugs them, each, one long, solid hug, revels in having them this close, then releases them to the rest of their families and steps out of the way, into the still bustling hall.

Jesus. So much time recently has been dedicated to his boys, to being with them, taking care of them, being what they needed. And they’ll still need him, Pepper assures him, but they’re adults now. 

It’s not like there’s nothing in his life, though. He’s got a great kid he promised to take to Malibu before school starts, and a wife by his side, and a whole large weird extended family. He’s got a company to revolutionize and a world to clean up, and if he never gets into the armor again, well, at least he still has all that.

Morgan and Pepper step out a few minutes later. Pepper kisses his scarred cheek and Morgan once more takes his hand, and they begin to walk out.

Someone must have squealed online about what they were doing today, and a rare appearance of Tony Stark is just too good to pass up. There’s not a ton of photos of him, now, considering his rare appearances, but as the cameras flash, he knows those will float around online by the end of the day.

Bad side and all, scars and still drooping, scarred eye and mouth, slight limp and metal arm. 

Tony of yesteryear would have given a fuck. This Tony holds Morgan’s hand a little tighter, wraps his other arm around Pepper.

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark!”

Tony lets go of Pepper long enough to flash them a peace sign, then continues walking to his car.


End file.
